


Blanched

by BirchBow (chaoticTenebrism)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: A contemplation on how friendship contains horror?, Basically Gamzee pretty much, Egregious paleness, Explicit Language, Friendship, Friendship/Horror, Insanity, M/M, Sober Gamzee, Violence, moiraillegiance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-02
Updated: 2013-01-02
Packaged: 2017-11-23 11:11:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/621474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaoticTenebrism/pseuds/BirchBow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gamzee lies in the metal veins of the asteroid lab's ventilation system, dazed and mostly sober, and thinks and listens and listens and thinks.  He's got a lot to think about.  Aliens.  Blood.  Colors.  Sounds.  But mostly, in the cold pipes, he remembers what it felt like to be warm.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blanched

**Author's Note:**

> This was almost solely inspired by this one line that I don't remember exactly off of the top of my head. I believe it's when John and Karkat are talking after the infamous shoosh-pap scene, and when pressed Karkat says something like "...I DON'T WANT TO TALK ABOUT WHAT I DID TO HIM." It just made me think, what if there's something more to that kind of contact than what it would be for a human?   
> It feels almost ridiculous to us, that someone in that kind of crazy murderous rage could be calmed down with just a few shushing sounds and a few pats on the face, but what if it's like a built-in thing for trolls? A safety measure to make sure they don't all kill each other? Or at the very least, something that capitalizes on how they would typically be completely starved for friendly affection and contact. They would be unlikely to have contact with anyone or anything living that wasn't their lusus, until they got old enough to fill up quadrants, at which point the pale quadrant would be the only one focused on touching and affection for solely friendly and comforting purposes.   
> ...and that's why this fic. :I Not entirely happy with my Gamzee voice, but hey, it's my first time writing him. :) I jUsT wAnTeD tO gIvE iT mY bEsT mOtHeRfUcKiN' sHoT, bRoThErS. :oD

They don’t even get it.

Don’t even get it, all those aliens.  Being shooshed isn’t the same as what all them pink human aliens seem to be thinkin’.  Got the wrong notions up in their soft, pink, _fragile_ little think pans, stupid aliens.  Moirails are just kind of like being bros then, they say.  So all anybody has to do is just shush you and pat your head a little and you’re okay, they say.

They mock it.  They laugh and shoosh each other, pap each other’s faces, giggle so it’s like you’ll lose your clear thinkin’ with rage.  They think it’s funny, how your moirail has a hold over you, they think it’s stupid, how _easy_ it is to _control_ you. 

He don’t have to control you.  Not your palemate, your moirail, best brother of yours.  He’s not tyin’ you down or pushin’ you around; he’s just takin’ all that desire to up and hurt a brother and makin’ you forget you even up and had it in the first place.  When a troll shooshes for real it goes straight to your withered up little soul.  When your best brother paps your face he sucks the rage right outta you and everything goes soft and close and warm.  Bein’ cared at.  Bein’ pitied.  Bein’ pale. It’s like the sopor but warmer, and it doesn’t make the lights dance in front of your eyes.  You remember those lights; remembers how they made your thoughts sparkle but your food-sac twist up all knotted and tight in your core.  Those were bad nights for certain, sick nights, spinning-like-bone-tops-nights, bone toys hashed together from dead trolls’ horns and white crackling claw-bones all painted up and _spinning_. 

You think about the aliens now.  Can think now.  Can get thoughts whirrin’ away.  Can think...these human aliens, they’re warm and soft all the time, and their world is all warm and peace and _boring_ and they don’t up and _get it_ at all.  Sometimes ( _ALL TIMES_ ) the voice in your head whispers—whispers like it’s right there in your auriculars, right there whispering on your shoulder—says _kill these fuckers, If you do you know you’ll get him to shoosh you right down and they’ll glow up and live, you know you’d slide clean and free—_ but your best brother would not like that, would not like to have to do that, would not like to see you up and slaughter them, paint your pictures with their blood…

…no, your very best invertebrother would not like that at all. 

You stretch out in one of the air pipes and everything is cold.  Metal’s all cold.  What’s it all want to up and be cold for?  You don’t like cold much.  Sand and sea weren’t never this cold.  But for all the chills in your bones your blood-pusher is still pumpin’ away inside and that’s because of him.  Like he’s all up inside you, sittin’ in your thinkpan, yellin’ when you even start to think about crackin’ more horns, drainin’ more blood.  Yellin’ _don’t make me shoosh you because I will, you lanky sack of hoofbeast shit!  Sit your ass down on that pile right now, we’re having a feelings jam!_   

You can hear voices echoing around and around and around; troll voices, alien voices, all bouncing around, dancing.  You can almost see them when you blink.  You look for one shade; spin your eyes round and round in the dark, nothin’ but teal and jade green and…

“ _—giving all the fucks I can possibly give and guess what?_ THAT’S NOT A LOT!” 

The words are bright, miraculous red and you smile at the metal in front of you from just the sound of that yell assaultin’ your think-pan.  Not his face smiling back at you though—your face.  Your eyes are starting to go blood-violet you know.  Seen it happening.  What’s that they say?  _Unstable_.  _It’s just how he is. Highblood.  He’s not safe.  He could snap any moment.  Violent.  Insane._ All manner of words, bouncing around in this rock’s metal blood tubes.  Is there a bloodpusher somewhere, at the center of all these tubes and chutes?  You wonder. 

The human aliens say they call their bloodpushers same as their hearts—that’s what they feel with, they say, that’s their only quadrant, they say, they just _love_ , whatever the motherfuck _love_ is.  It’s not any quadrant, they say.  It’s all the quadrants.  Or only a few sometimes.  Or some of them.  Or none of them.  Seems they themselves don’t even know what’s their own goddamn feelings, and it makes you want to pull them open, pull out their goddamn “hearts”, see if answers are locked all up inside their soft thoraxes.

It’s a wicked mess.  You want your moirail back and you want all of them to up and leave him some air. Just a little, so you can come out without having to strife nobody and maybe get held a little.  It was just so fucking warm.  Made you feel redeemed, all brought up clean and full of whimsy, ready to dance right off to the Dark Carnival and jolly it up for ever and fucking ever amen.  You don’t tell him that.  Your best brother is so good, made of fuckin’ brilliance he’s so good, but he doesn’t up and listen in the dark for the honk of the mirthful messiahs.  But he just sends you up into Bloody Big Top when he shooshes you calm, sends you right out of your think pan when he tells you you’re okay.  “You need a moirail more than anybody, fuckass,” he said once, and did he know you were fate, you were an act all written out all high razor-wire and no net?

Your name is Gamzee Makara.  You’ve got the old blood and the mad harshwhimsies and your eyes are all full of glorious motherfuckin’ indigo. You’ve got a think-pan all full of holes and you want to do all sort of things to trolls unwholesome to their living and breathing.  You need a moirail more than anybody.

And now you got one.

**Author's Note:**

> What even is troll anatomy. What even is the inside of Gamzee's brain. What even is the English language and how does one write in it. @_@ Ugh whatever. i just wanted to get my enormous moirail feelings out there. :D Peace!


End file.
